


In the Name of Science

by Miratete



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Breeding, Consensual Sex, For Science!, Interspecies Sex, Mech Preg, Nesting, Other, Weirdness, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-08-03 16:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16329284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miratete/pseuds/Miratete
Summary: -o-o-o-o-o-Bob seeks out a mate among the crew of the Lost Light, but instead his Hivemaster presents him with one. The Queen isn't spectacular but fits the bill for a first breeding. And the Hivemaster seems to think very highly of the chosen Queen.-o-o-o-o-o-





	1. Bob

-o-o-o-o-o-

Bob climbed up into the larger mech's lap, waggling his yellow antennae and churring sweetly. The spiky white mech petted the Insecticon's helm, smiling, while fingers obligingly rubbed behind a pair of antennae. This was good.

From across the room, his yellow Hivemaster was looking on, smiling as well, and saying something to the spiky white mech.

Bob wriggled a little, stretched out his two strong primary arms, grabbed onto the spiky white mech's legs, and flipped himself onto his back in the larger mech's lap. The spiky white mech laughed, and as hoped began rubbing the Insecticon's underside, the heel of his palm rubbing the plating while the fingertips toyed with the seams and edges there. A black mech leaned over to look on, smiling as well. The expression of upward curving lips were how the tall-breeds showed their delight.

This was definitely good. The spiky white mech liked him, and the Hivemaster had not reacted negatively at all. Bob gripped the spiky white mech's wrist with his two smaller manipulator arms and kissed back appreciatively with his tongue, eliciting more giggles and broader smiles. Perhaps this would be the right one.

One more test.

Bob returned to a right-side-up position and stood in the spiky white mech's lap. He was easily three times Bob's size, and certainly far stronger. Well-armed too—more than most of the others. He would be a good choice for a Queen.

No. Not a good choice. He'd be an excellent choice.

Bob looked into the blue optics, regarding the face of his intended before nuzzling his head against that of the spiky white mech. And then he climbed up onto the mech's shoulders. The other tall-breeds in the room were laughing, and he could feel the frame beneath him shaking with the same. He nuzzled again at the head and the antennae there before climbing down to the floor, only to stand again with his forearms in the spiky white mech's lap. To his surprise, the mech reached down and slipped his hands around the ridge-holds on his back mid-frame. 

Bob squealed delightedly. The mech was checking him out too! He must be experienced! This was very good!

The spiky white mech was talking to the Hivemaster again.

Now.

Bob gripped the spiky white mech around the leg and tugged at him, trying to get him to move from his seat, chirring all the while. The mech finally obliged and stood. Bob took his hand and did his best to lead the mech over to his Hivemaster.

"Bob? Yes?" his yellow Hivemaster said. There came more words Bob didn't understand. 

Bob chattered and clicked, climbing up to the large mech's shoulders again and petting him with his manipulator arms.

But then the Hivemaster just opened his arms and carefully lifted Bob off the spiky white mech. There were more words as he sat down, holding his charge tightly in his arms and stroking him gently.

The spiky white mech went back to his seat.

Bob looked up at the Hivemaster, and then back at his intended, then back at the Hivemaster, and once more at his intended. 

The Hivemaster did not respond, only continuing to talk and laugh with the other tall-breeds.

Bob sighed hard and settled against the Hivemaster and tried not to let it get to him. Once again his choice had been rejected.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	2. Sunstreaker

-o-o-o-o-o-

"He's been so social lately," said Sunstreaker. "It's like he's wanting to get to know everyone."

Drift held still as Sunstreaker carefully lifted his thorny, hulking pet from Drift's frame and took him into his lap. "I don't remember him ever being this friendly."

Sunstreaker petted Bob gently, though the Insecticon looked disappointed as he glanced back and forth between him and Drift. "You should have seen him yesterday. I was meeting with Rodimus, and he did the same thing, climbing all over him. Lying in his lap. Crawling up onto his shoulders. And then he tried to bring Rodimus over to me."

Swerve laughed from behind the counter. "Perhaps he knows you need a berthmate and was trying to hook you up."

Sunstreaker moaned. "Great. An Insecticon matchmaker. Just what I need."

Chromedome, sitting with Rewind at the next table over, pointed at Bob. "Maybe he's looking for a berthmate for himself."

"Yeah," said Rewind. "Perhaps he's looking for someone to start his own little Swarm with." 

A precarious silence fell over Swerve's.

"I... don't know," Sunstreaker said eventually, and awkwardly.

Drift looked particularly awkward. Had the Insecticon's friendly display been more than just friendly?

"Get Ratchet to check him out. See what he says," Swerve suggested.

Sunstreaker looked down at the sighing creature settled into his lap. "Maybe I should."

-o-o-o-o-o-


	3. Bob

-o-o-o-o-o-

Bob felt saddened by the fact that the Hivemaster had him on the chain again. Hadn't he proved that he was good enough not to need that sort of control? He wasn't chewing things at random. He wasn't eating things he wasn't offered. He kept close to the Hivemaster.

The Hivemaster took him into the repair room, the place the injured went. Two of the three Healers were there, and both were happy to see him, but then they lifted him onto the table. Why? He was not damaged. He looked at the yellow Hivemaster in confusion.

The chief Healer—the white-crested Hivemaster—began to look him over. He only petted Bob and stroked his plating as the other Healer held up some odd things that made occasional buzzes or beeps. Bob was unsure of what was happening, but his Hivemaster was there, a loving arm over Bob's shoulders and rubbing behind his antennae just as he liked it.

After a while, the yellow Hivemaster stepped back and called him down from the table and led him back to their room. After the door was closed, the Hivemaster took off of the chain. 

"Bob?" he asked, followed by more words. 

It would be so much easier if Bob could understand more of the language the tall-breeds spoke. So often they talked to him even though they knew he understood so few words.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	4. Sunstreaker

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sunstreaker answered the knock on the door of his habsuite and was surprised to find Perceptor, Brainstorm, and Ratchet there.

"Have a moment to talk? It's about Bob."

Bob's antennae perked at the sound of his name.

"Mmm? Sure. Come in." He stepped aside as the three mechs entered. "Have a seat." They must have discovered something in the scans done in the medical bay the previous day.

Bob, excited to have visitors, immediately rose from his bed on the floor to investigate who had come in. He nuzzled playfully at their hands, taking in their scents and fields and twitching his yellow antennae at them, hoping for a skritch on the head.

Perceptor and Ratchet sat on the berth while Sunstreaker pulled over his desk chair for Brainstorm. Not having any other seating, Sunstreaker pulled up his footstool and sat on that. 

"So what have you found out about Bob?" he asked, looking at his pet, who was investigating Perceptor's feet.

"He seems to have reached reproductive maturity. Internal scans indicate there have been considerable changes to his internal structure since the last time he was in the medbay. There is definitely a full-sized spike housed in there along with a reservoir for generative fluid. So it is possible that his behavior is an Insecticon method of seeking out a mate," Perceptor said dryly.

"I see."

"His behavior has been in accordance with that of many organic species, and to a certain degree our own."

"You mean all the cuddly-stuff? Trying to get friendly with everyone after he's ignored them for so long?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Yes," Ratchet said. "Like he's doing now." Bob had moved on from Perceptor and was now rubbing his carapace against Brainstorm's legs and pawing playfully at his feet. That was how it usually began.

Sunstreaker apologized and pulled Bob away from the scientist, and then sat on the rug with one hand on the Insecticon's shoulder to keep him from molesting the guests. "And then he always tries to lead someone over to me after he's gotten all cuddly with them. Any idea what that's about?"

Perceptor piped up. "We unfortunately know so very little about the Swarm and the Insecticons. Though the observation of those that have hunted them, such as yourself, is that the individual hives have a larger, stronger leader. It may be that he considers you the leader of such a hive, and there may be some issue of permission-granting or approval required of the mate," Perceptor theorized. 

"Or perhaps the hive leader is supposed to check the chosen mate for suitability," Brainstorm added.

"This is going to make me Mr. Popular, if it's true," Sunstreaker mumbled sarcastically. 

"We don't know," Ratchet said. "And of course we're not completely sure that Bob is seeking a mate, though it is a likely conclusion given what we've found in the scans. Have you noticed any other behaviors in him that might suggest it?"

Sunstreaker thought about it. "Nothing off hand. I guess the only way we'd know for sure is if we let him keep doing what he's doing when he's dragging these guys over to me. I've been pulling him away from them. I guess I could let him keep going. Though..." He looked at the others awkwardly.

"I know what you're going to say," Brainstorm said. "We have discussed this and the possibilities at length."

"I volunteer," Perceptor said flatly.

Sunstreaker choked. "You volunteer? For what?" he blurted. The idea of Bob touching a mech... in that way... if that was what Bob wanted... was just too.. too... No. Perceptor had to be teasing.

But then Perceptor was not one to tease.

"We know so little about the Swarm, and their fecundity is our biggest enemy right now. If we are able to study the reproductive behavior and processes of an Insecticon, we might be able to counter it somehow in the near future." Perceptor said calmly. "I am willing to allow Bob to proceed with me, to the point of allowing him to impregnate me, and then carry whatever is created to term."

"Perceptor? Are you feeling all right?" Sunstreaker asked. "You'd let an Insecticon spark you up?" How could the scientist volunteer for such a distasteful experiment? "That's... that's..." He was unable to finish.

Ratchet leaned forward on the berth. "Percy's equipped to carry, and we all know that Insecticons are able to impregnate regular Cybertronians. There was the case of Oilcan, and that of Lightwave."

Sunstreaker grimaced. As a fighter of the Swarm he knew of both cases. Oilcan had been captured by Insecticons and forced to breed with one of their members, claiming he had been raped repeatedly. He'd been rescued before the brood growing inside of him had come to term, and after rescue he'd immediately had the seven unsparked forms aborted. As for Lightspeed, the missing courier was found dead in a bombed out Insecticon hive along with the rest of the denizens. Examination of his body revealed four Insecticon protoforms within his gestation chamber.

"I doubt Bob will hurt me, at least not intentionally. He's quite docile," Perceptor said. 

"But you'd let him frag you?" Sunstreaker asked. 

"Yes. I know that such a mating is unorthodox to say the least, but the information we gain might prove invaluable."

"And here I thought I was the crazy one."

"As Bob's owner, you still have a say in this," Ratchet pointed out.

Sunstreaker looked over at Perceptor, sitting calmly in the chair, appearing not the least bit phased by the thought of Bob fragging him to some unknown end. To be honest, this ship was full of nutcases. Those that hid their madness were just waiting for the right moment to reveal it. "Well, if Percy wants to get cozy with an Insecticon, he's welcome to. I still think it's weird though." Sunstreaker glanced down at Bob, who in turn kept eyeing Brainstorm and Perceptor with four hopeful optics.

"Would it be all right with you? To involve Bob in this experiment?" Brainstorm asked.

"Well, he does seem to be interested in something." He looked at Perceptor again. "If you really want to do this, it's all right with me. Who knows? Maybe he just wants an extra-long cuddle or something and isn't wanting to breed."

"We could begin tonight," Brainstorm said.

"I will want to rig Percy up with some transmitting medical sensors first and set up the programs for them," Ratchet said. "But it shouldn't take long."

"And then?" Sunstreaker asked sarcastically. "Hot shower and a polish? A starlight stroll around the windowed decks? A long cuddle and a steamy movie? Want me to send you a file of Bob's favorite romantic music?"

Brainstorm smirked.

Ratchet huffed.

Perceptor didn't even realize he was being teased. "I don't think Bob would require such encouragements since as far as we know those things aren't a part of Insecticon culture," he said with all seriousness. "Would you prefer to bring Bob to my laboratory later? Or shall I return here once we're ready?"

Arrangements were made, and as soon as the others left, Sunstreaker accessed the informational database. He looked up the cases of Oilcan and Lightspeed and found the stories were pretty much as he remembered them.

Oilcan's report was the longer one and he read it first. The poor mech, a pipeline maintenance worker, had been abducted by three solitary members of the Swarm, taken to their Hive, and kept a prisoner there. One of the three had mated with him six times the first day, and after an orn the same Insecticon mated with him five times more. He'd been rescued shortly thereafter, but the damage had been done. He insisted that the tiny but growing protoforms within him be immediately removed and was doubly insistent when scans determined that all seven were sparkless.

As for Lightspeed, they could only assume the story had been much the same as that of Oilcan. With the mech having been found dead they could not ask questions. The fact that he'd been killed in the bombing of the hive rather than by his captors had put something of a quick closure to his case to prevent embarrassment and too many questions.

Sunstreaker sighed, glancing over at Bob, now lying playfully on his back with a rusted piece of steel in his mouth to chew on. Was Perceptor that willing, perhaps even wanting, to be put into that same strange situation of breeding with an Insecticon?

At least it was by his own choice.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	5. Bob

-o-o-o-o-o-

Bob was surprised to see two of the three tall-breeds from earlier back again.

This time instead of the guests taking seats, they stood about talking. And after a while of talking, the red and blue one with the tube on his shoulder went to the center of the floor and he lay down on his back as the three continued to talk. The yellow Hivemaster was shaking his head. Only the white-crested Hivemaster smiled.

The red-blue one looked nervous, and then the yellow Hivemaster got down on the floor beside him and put a pillow beneath his head. Was the mech going to take a nap there?

"Bob! Bob, come," the Hivemaster called.

With a trill of curiosity Bob skittered over, wondering what was up. And then the Hivemaster patted the chest of the red-blue mech. Still curious, Bob looked at the prostrate mech. 

The Hivemaster patted him again. "Yours," he said.

Bob tilted his head at his Hivemaster questioningly. Really?

'Yours,' was what his Hivemaster said when he fluffed up the bed on the floor for him to sleep on at the end of his day.

'Yours,' was what he said when he offered a rusty steel rod to chew on.

'Yours,' was what he said when he handed over a cube of energon he'd not quite finished.

'Yours,' was what he said when he offered a fresh blanket to cover himself with.

And now the Hivemaster was providing a Queen for him? Was that why all his presented candidates had been refused? Had the Hivemaster wanted to choose? Someone from a hive of his own selection?

Bob chirped an extra query for approval.

"Yes, Bob. Yours," he said, patting the mech again.

His Hivemaster meant it!

Bob glanced up at the white-crested Hivemaster. Was the red-blue mech one of his Hive? Had he brought him as a gift? It was done sometimes, when an Insecticon was setting up a new Hive or when the population of an established Hive had been decimated. 

"Yours, Bob," the white-crested Hivemaster echoed.

Bob squealed and chittered with delight and pounced upon the red-blue mech. A Queen! His first Queen!

The red-blue mech cringed as Bob crawled atop him but quickly tried to still himself, venting heavily. Bob froze. Perhaps the Queen was frightened. Or perhaps the Queen was so ready to mate that everything stimulated him.

The Insecticon began to stroke the presented mech's chest with his manipulator hands, churring softly to soothe and relax him. Perhaps the Queen was frightened of mating. Perhaps he was unsure of a mate that was not a tall-breed. Bob continued to rumble a purr as he nuzzled the red-blue mech gently, assuring him that he would be well taken care of and assuring the two Hivemasters that he was appreciative of the gift of a Queen.

The two Hivemasters pulled the furniture away from the rug at the center of the room and the room's lights dimmed somewhat. They sat on the Hivemaster's bed, and from a respectful distance they looked on, quietly talking with each other. 

Bob began to caress his Queen's frame, wondering what their brood would be like. There was so much physical variety among the tall-breeds. Honestly, he would have preferred the large spiky white mech he'd courted in the drinking-place three days ago. That one was obviously a great fighter, entrusted with many weapons, and his size meant he could easily carry at least a dozen offspring at once. But perhaps his Hivemaster knew a Queen like that would have been no match for him, an untested first-time sire. This average-sized and docile mech was probably more suited to a beginner. Or perhaps he was known as a reliable Queen that would bear strong young to build up the empty hive of his master's.

Bob worked his way down the mech, sniffing out the Queen's reproductive opening, finding it hidden by a panel. When he pawed at the panel with one of his manipulator hands, the Queen gasped loudly.

Bob drew back, startled.

"It's okay, Bob," his Hivemaster reassured him, coming over from the shadows and kneeling beside him on the rug. He reached up to pet the Insecticon's head just above his eyes. "Yours, Bob," he said again. 

The yellow Hivemaster took the Queen's hand and held it tightly in his own, speaking softly to the Queen in the language of the tall-breeds. The white-crested Hivemaster was also speaking from across the room. Suddenly the Queen began to laugh at something the Hivemasters told him.

The bit of armor protecting the reproductive canal moved away, and there was the entrance, ovoid in shape and welcoming Bob with a pretty ring of blue lights. Bob could smell the lubrication on the mesh within, and when he touched the entrance with one of his manipulator hands, the Queen moaned and spread his legs further apart.

This was going to be wonderful. His first mating. His first time to prove himself a genitor of the Hive. So very wonderful.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Chapter Five and a Half – Sunstreaker

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Yours Bob," said Sunstreaker as he petted Bob's helm. And then he took Perceptor's hand. "You okay?"

"I am. It just caught me off guard, which is foolish I know. Of course he was going to touch me there."

Sunstreaker chuckled softly and entwined his fingers with those of the scientist. "I'd be nervous myself if I had an Insecticon crawling all over me with his glossa and spike out."

"Perceptor," Ratchet said with a wicked smirk, "just offline your optics and imagine it's Drift on top of you."

Perceptor laughed. "I shall try that."

Sunstreaker was laughing as well. "I'll make sure he doesn't get too excited or push you too hard." And then the frontliner unexpectedly tensed, his smile being replaced by a look of concern. “Wait, Perceptor, don't tell me that this is your first time as well.”

“I assure you it isn't,” he said bemusedly. “Did you really think it could have been?”

Sunstreaker looked a little sheepish. “Well I don't know you that well, and I've heard that a lot of you sciencey-types... well...”

Perceptor smiled up at the yellow warrior, true gratitude on his faceplate. "Thank you for caring, Sunstreaker," he said warmly as he squeezed the other mech's hand.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	6. Sunstreaker

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sunstreaker wasn't sure what to feel right now as he watched his pet rutting away atop the scientist. So many disparate emotions clouded his thoughts.

Happy for Perceptor? The mech was doing this in the name of science, the thing he loved most. Perceptor might have taken up as a sniper, but certainly he'd rather be exploring from the comfort of a laboratory. Yes, the scientist was obviously nervous about mating with the Insecticon, but it was all part of the process of studying the Insecticons. Perceptor had to be happy that the theory Bob was seeking a mate was completely correct. He clung to Sunstreaker's hand and sometimes entwined their fingers—not in fear but perhaps as an expression of both physical and mental pleasure, expressing it reservedly in this way. 

Happy for Bob? Bob was obviously having a wonderful time of it perched atop a willing breeding partner. He looked happy, there being something of a smile in his four yellow optics as he thrust away, his long yellow-ringed spike probing deeply into Perceptor's valve. He obviously had the coding that told him what to do, and had even gone about it with much more care than expected. The Insecticon had first fondly stroked Perceptor, caressing his plating before moving down to the reproductive equipment, a gesture meant to soothe and relax.

Sunstreaker thought back to Bob's bringing various mechs over to him, and now it had been made unquestionably clear that Bob was indeed seeking a breeding partner. Certainly he'd been hoping for approval along those lines with the ones he'd presented. The thought of Bob breeding with Drift or Rodimus was just too laughable, but at least the Insecticon had some taste.

Sorry for Perceptor? It had to be strange for the somewhat prudish and reserved scientist lying beneath the rutting Insecticon, and even a bit frightening, and they all knew that this unorthodox procedure was just the first part of it. Far more strangeness would follow should the mating prove successful. Perceptor had gasped when Bob first touched the protective covering over his interfacing array, and shortly thereafter cried out when the Insecticon's spike had penetrated him. Sunstreaker had taken Perceptor's hand to assure him that everything was all right, to assure him that he was there to make sure Bob didn't hurt him, and that things didn't go too far. 

If Bob did manage to impregnate him and start the development of new protoforms, how would that go? Would Perceptor be able to carry them normally? How many would there be? How would the other crewmembers aboard the Lost Light react to this most irregular pregnancy? Would it get especially awkward? So many questions, and Perceptor had to be thinking about them with far more depth than anyone else was. But he'd been the one to suggest it in the first place. Commitment was apparently a strength for him.

Aroused? Bob definitely knew what to do with his new equipment, and the little whimpers coming from Perceptor were rather suggestive. The mech moaned now and then, squirming beneath the Insecticon. Bob hummed and clicked happily, holding the mech in place with his primary hands and continuing to caress him with the relatively tiny secondary pair, kissing him all the while with his long tongue. It was obvious that he wanted Perceptor to relax and enjoy the experience, and equally obvious that Perceptor was being made comfortable and perhaps even taking some pleasure from it.

Bob had overloaded quickly after the initial penetration, and then gently rolled Perceptor onto his stomach and gone for it again. Now he had the scientist on his back once more and was working without slowing through a third round. And a cycle had yet to pass! How long had it been since Sunstreaker himself had enjoyed a lover with such stamina and devotion, let alone one that even wanted to procreate with him? Perhaps after Ratchet and Perceptor left, he'd head for the rec-hall or Swerve's place and see if anyone else was feeling needy. Or perhaps, the session was having the same effect on the medic as well and Ratchet would be more than happy to indulge any wants.

Worried for whatever unholy offspring were born of this mating? If the match were successful, what would result? Mechs? Hybrids? Swarm? A mixed litter? There had not been much detail on the other cases. Oilcan's brood had been quickly destroyed in horror and revulsion. The unfortunate Lightspeed had four Insecticon protoforms inside of him, but no other information had been made available.

There was a possibility that the offspring would be proper Insecticons rather than Swarm—what the Decepticons had been hoping for in the first place. But if they ended up Swarm, the poor things might have to be destroyed despite their parentage. And whatever they were, how would the offspring behave? Nature or nurture? Would they end up dead even if they were intelligent, brought into being only to satisfy scientific curiosity and then snuffed out as any experiment's components were simply discarded after the information had been gathered.

Sunstreaker still held tightly to Perceptor's hand, squeezing it now and then. Perceptor had yet to overload, and Sunstreaker hoped the scientist would soon. He watched the pale faceplate shifting with mixed emotions and thoughts. Perceptor had insisted that they let Bob do as he pleased, to let the Insecticon proceed unhindered in order to get an accurate idea of the mating process. But if Bob wanted to keep going beyond three rounds, Sunstreaker would at least pause the Insecticon for a moment and allow Perceptor to rest.

Perceptor suddenly broke from the haze of thought and sensation, onlined his optics and looked over to where their fingers entwined. "Thank you, Sunstreaker" he said with a weak smile.

"For what this time?"

"For being here to see me through."

Sunstreaker's processors twinged. The scientist looked so beautiful right then, almost lost and helpless, and yet confident and awash with pleasure. There was trust in his optics. And for a moment it was as if the two of them were alone. No Bob. No Ratchet. No Lost Light. Just them.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	7. Bob

-o-o-o-o-o-

Bob was excited. He'd found the perfect location for a nest, and only the day after the mating! For some reason he'd suddenly been allowed to wander the spacecraft without the Hivemaster. He had a Queen. He'd proven himself. The tall-breeds understood that he was an adult now and could be trusted.

There were four large pits in the floor of the largest room aboard the spacecraft. He claimed the one furthest from any door, cleared out the metal boxes down inside it, and began to ready it for his forthcoming brood. It was a good nest: deep enough to contain him and his mate comfortably, but shallow enough to climb in and out of easily enough. It would be easily capped to keep the larvae in and unwanted visitors out. It was large enough for a typical brood, and definitely large enough for future matings with a bigger Queen.

But three times the tall-breeds put the boxes back into it, and three times he took them back out again, on the third time moving them close to some of the other pits to let them know that the boxes needed a new location. The yellow Hivemaster was summoned at that point, and after he spoke to them they got the idea and found new places for the crates

When the Hivemaster had first brought him aboard the craft, Bob had been shown to a pile of loose debris in one corner of the same large room. While the others did not appear to take much from it, he was allowed to eat whatever he wanted from the heap. His requirements had been few, neither growing nor nesting at the time, but now the pile would be a crucial food source for his gravid Queen and their young.

As some of the tall-breeds watched, he selected a large piece of rusted metal from the pile and carried it back to the nest. Taking it down inside the chosen pit, he began the process that would consume most of his time leading up to the birth of the brood. Taking a bite, he began to chew on the steel, grinding the bite into tiny pieces before pressing them into a ball against a round hollow inside of his mouth. Cementing them loosely together with a glue secreted from the top of the hollow, he spat out the ball and studied it—the first of what would be thousands. Meeting his approval, he put it into the corner of the pit, took another bite from the sheet of steel, and began the process over.

Bob continued to chew apart the metal sheet until it had been converted into several dozen balls of shredded metal. And then he went back to the food pile, selected a large bent iron rod, and returned again to the nest. Settling comfortably again he began the grinding and cementing process once more.

As he worked he thought back to the spiky white mech in the drinking-place. That one must have been a Superior Queen if he wasn't a Hivemaster. He'd behaved like a Queen rather than a Hivemaster. Though almost of the tall-breeds aboard the spacecraft behaved as Queens—petting him and encouraging him with touch and soft words. Well if the spiky white one had been a Superior Queen no wonder the yellow Hivemaster had ended the courtship rather quickly. Surely he belonged to some other Hive already—Superior Queens did not just wander about looking for mates.

But, Bob couldn't rule him out of his future either. Superior Queens sometimes found themselves widowed. If Bob were lucky, perhaps at some point the spiky white Superior Queen would lose his status and possibly be moved into the yellow Hivemaster's domain, where he would be free to claim for a brood or two. Bob sighed, his processors full of pleasant thoughts. He had been lucky to have been taken in by the yellow Hivemaster. Perhaps that luck would continue.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	8. Sunstreaker

-o-o-o-o-o-

The message went out across the Lost Light's infonet. ::Whoever stole my mattress, I'd really like it back. Full pardon granted to anyone returning it within the next four cycles.::

A response came in from Rung. ::Sunstreaker, I saw Bob dragging a mattress down a corridor on my way to my office. Would that be yours?::

A second response came in from Ultra Magnus. ::Bob was taking a mattress somewhere a couple cycles ago—probably yours. He hissed at me when I tried to stop him.::

A third response came back from the cargo bay. Perceptor this time. ::Bob has it down here.::

Sunstreaker went down to the cargo bay and found exactly what he'd been expecting. The mattress from his berth was at the bottom of the pit Bob had claimed a few days previous. Bob and the scientist were atop it, the bug chewing apart what appeared to be a broken instrument console. Perceptor, in microscope mode, was studying the balls of shredded metal the Insecticon was piling up beside them.

"So what are those things, besides balls of chewed up junk?"

"I believe they will be a food source for the young. I suspect that their jaws will be unable to handle bigger food at first, so Bob is processing them somewhat for the larvae to eat."

"The larvae?" He gave Perceptor a look.

Perceptor sighed. "I know, it sounds awful, doesn't it?"

Sunstreaker jumped down into the pit, Bob chirping a second happy greeting to his keeper.

Perceptor transformed and put his hands onto his abdomen. "Ratchet says I'm carrying five larvae. The scans of their protoforms have shown a consistence with the few fetal Insecticons that have been studied. Though it's still quite early, and those scans were of pure Insecticons rather than hybrids. There was no information available regarding the larvae Oilcan and Lightspeed were carrying."

"Five larvae inside you. That really is a horrible thought. I hope to Primus that you birth them rather than having them chew their way out."

"We doubt that would be the case, but if they start to do so, we can remove them before they eat anything critical."

Sunstreaker shuddered. "I'm fond of Bob, but this is just weird."

Perceptor sighed. "I know. But we'll know so much more about the Insecticons after this. Perhaps we'll have some way of stopping their reproductive capabilities."

Sunstreaker's gaze moved to stare at Perceptor's abdomen. "Where are they at? Can you feel them?"

"Here," Perceptor said, putting his hands over the applicable place. "There's some unusual pressure and warmth, but I don't feel much more than that."

Sunstreaker squatted next to the mattress and put a hand against Perceptor's plating. "You do feel a bit warm here, at least warmer than I'd expect."

"I am about four degrees warmer in the area centering on the gestation chamber. The nanites are quite busy it seems."

Sunstreaker looked up into Perceptor's faceplate, noting something of a sad smile on his lip components, but also a soft glow to his optics. Once again there was something beautiful about the scientist-sniper.

"Want me to help you get your mattress out of here?" Perceptor asked.

Sunstreaker pulled his hand away. How long had he been staring at Perceptor?

"I think I'll leave it. At some point you'll probably need it. And Bob must have gone to a lot of effort to get it all the way down here."

"Would you like the one from my quarters?"

"Nawww. I'm okay with an unpadded berth for a while. After this experiment's done, I'll get it back."

Bob finished destroying and reforming the console and left the nest.

"So how many of these things do you think he's going to make?" Sunstreaker asked in Bob's absence, picking up one of the balls and studying it.

"Not sure. He's at it for about ten cycles a day, and he's made around two thousand so far." The scientist gestured to the huge pile of food-balls stacked neatly into the corner.

"The little blighters are going to eat like scraplets."

"I think that's why Bob seems so determined to have these food-balls ready for them. And for myself. He keeps encouraging me to eat them."

"Have you?"

"I've had three. Certainly he doesn't know that Ratchet keeps filling me with the usual metal and mineral supplements for carriers."

"Is there anything special in them?" Sunstreaker looked at the ball in his hand again, and then took it over to the huge pile and placed it with the others.

"Not necessarily. I've been analyzing them, and there aren't any unusual elements in them or in the glue that binds them." He picked one up himself and looked at it closely. "Most are iron based, but sometimes there are ones of plastic, and even a few with wood and other organic matter in them. They're composed of whatever he's been pulling out of the scrap heap. This one is mostly aluminum from the console."

"How do they taste?"

"Like whatever they're made of."

Bob returned, dragging what looked like a battered chunk of bulkhead. Seeing Perceptor with a food-ball in his hand, he dropped his burden, scrabbled down into the nest, and gently pushed the hand toward Perceptor's mouth.

Obligingly the scientist ate it, Sunstreaker smirking all the while. When it was gone, Bob expressed his approval with a quick kissing of Perceptor's face and a stroking of his helm and scope.

"Well I guess I'll let you love birds be," Sunstreaker said. "I'm going to head up to Swerve's later. Want to join me?" Sunstreaker offered. Despite the mech's well-known studious and serious nature, he did like a drink now and then, sometimes a few too many.

"I'd like that," Perceptor said. He looked down at his middle. "I'll have to take it easy though, now that I'm expecting."

-o-o-o-o-o-


	9. Bob

-o-o-o-o-o-

Bob tracked his Queen to the room the Queen worked in—his busy-place—and pawed at the door. When it opened, he pushed in and gave happy greetings to his mate as always, chirping affectionately and waggling his four yellow antennae.

“Hello Bob," his Queen said, smiling.

The Queen had gotten used to the thrice daily visits, and usually seemed happy to see him, sometimes even having an energon treat prepared for him. Though sometimes he was unusually busy with some tall-breed activities and ignored him for the most part once greetings and a few affectionate touches had been exchanged.

This time his Queen was mostly unoccupied even though he was in the busy-place, and he crouched and skritched Bob behind the antennae. As he usually tried to do, Bob placed his head up against his Queen's middle, listening to the whirs and clicks and hums from inside.

But still no Insecticon thrum.

He sighed. How long had it been since their mating? Had they not been successful? If they had, the tiny frames should have activated by now. Bob listened harder, trying to tune out the background noise of the busy-place. There was a bit of warmth there, but not as much as he remembered a growing brood of larvae should generate.

Had he not released enough seminal fluid to begin the building process? Was his mate too inexperienced to know to take in the fluid? Had the Queen not been consuming enough extra food? Was everything all right with the Queen inside? Did it take longer for the tall-breeds to develop their young? Was he just being impatient? There were so many questions.

If only he could understand what the white crested Hivemaster was saying. The Healer seemed wise and understanding, and came to visit the Queen every day at the shift of activities. He'd been there at the mating, and the Queen had gone often to the white-crested Hivemaster's place since that occasion.

Bob thought hard as he rubbed his helm against his Queen's underside. There was just one answer for it.

“Bob?" What?!" the red-blue Queen exclaimed as the Insecticon took the mech's hand and led him toward an open spot on the floor. 

But the Queen complied as Bob guided him into a reclining position and climbed atop him, churring sweetly and kissing his faceplate with his tongue. The heat began to rise in the Insecticon's abdomen as his body readied itself for another breeding session, and that warmth felt so good. Perhaps the Queen needed to be warmed fully before he attempted to impregnate him. He didn't remember much warmth within him during the first session, at least not until the third penetration. At that point the Queen had definitely been aroused, mewling and arching beneath him, his hand clutching that of the Hivemaster's.

And speaking of the Hivemaster...

The yellow mech suddenly came into the Queen's busy-place, his expression looking concerned as he called to Bob and the Queen. "Bob? Again? Perceptor... okay?" The Queen sat up.

Startled, Bob withdrew, pulling back from his position atop his beloved Queen. Now what? Was he doing something wrong? Should he not be mating again? Was his impatience causing trouble?

The Hivemaster spoke with the Queen at some length, both sometimes pausing for long moments.

Nervously Bob shrunk away but still remained in physical contact with his Queen; he kept his primary hands on the mech's feet, letting him know that he was still there and ready to do as necessary. He stroked the plating delicately, purring softly and sociably.

In time, the Hivemaster addressed Bob specifically. "Bob. Yours," he said, patting the Queen's chestplate as the Queen lay back down and spread his legs apart.

Permission! Obviously the Hivemaster had come to the same conclusion.

Releasing the feet, Bob crawled forward, stroking the plating as he went, feeling the warmth in the depths of the Queen's frame. The Queen came to a definite readiness, the Hivemaster holding his hand and whispering gently to him in their language.

Bob moved to stroking the entrance area of the Queen's reproductive channel, opening the protective plating and then allowing his tiny manipulator fingers to caress the ovoid entrance. It wasn't long before the Queen whimpered in what could only be described as eagerness. Bob joyfully released his spike and entered him.

The red-blue mech seemed more relaxed and better lubricated this time as opposed to the initial mating. His hands even grasped the ridge-holds on Bob's back, allowing the Insecticon to thrust more deeply into him. 

The Hivemaster was definitely more relaxed, though he paid more attention to the Queen than to Bob's performance. He looked into the eyes of the Queen and spoke soft words, the tall-breed equivalent of purring Bob assumed. All seemed well and Bob found his earlier worry fading. Though perhaps he needed to be more insistent about feeding his mate the processed metal. Only four food-balls had been consumed so far, and that would hardly be enough for the growing brood inside of him.

Still, the Queen seemed healthy and happy even if he'd not shown any definite signs of carrying yet. Not all matings proved successful, even when a Superior Queen was involved. Perhaps this was exactly what was needed—another breeding session to try again.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	10. Sunstreaker

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sunstreaker had been summoned to the medbay, joining his pet and Perceptor there. Of late Bob was following Perceptor around half of the time. Thankfully the scientist didn't mind as long as the Insecticon did not interfere with his work. In fact sometimes he seemed to like the companionship.

“I want you to hear this, Sunstreaker. This just started up today,” said Ratchet, going to his work station.

“What did?”

Ratchet put up a live feed from one of the additional sensors he and Brainstorm had implanted in Perceptor's innards. A soft almost soothing hum filled the speakers. Bob, sitting happily at Perceptor's feet, moved to the console and was obviously listening carefully to the sound they emitted. He pressed his face into a speaker, but now and then he'd turn back to look at Perceptor sitting upon the exam table, some confusion in the Insecticon's expression.

“What is that?”

“The larvae. They've 'switched on' so to say and are pulling more power through the umbilical cables. Their systems are developed enough now," Ratchet explained.

"So that's what Bob got so excited about—that humming noise," Sunstreaker remarked. "Are they...? Are they mechs? Or Insecticons? Or some hybrid of both?" he asked.

"Insecticons, but in something of a different form."

"Do you have a camera in there?" Sunstreaker asked Perceptor as he nudged the scientist's side gently.

"I do, but..." Perceptor trailed off.

"But what?"

"You'd probably not want to see what they look like."

"Hey, if I'm going to be a grandparent, why wouldn't I want to see what my grandkids are going to look like. What? Are they hideous?"

Ratchet and Perceptor both glared at the warrior.

"Sorry." Sunstreaker huffed, looking away.

"They're similar to Bob's shape, but with an extended abdomen. Scans show what appear to be walking legs forming inside of that abdomen. There may be a bipedal alt-mode in the works," offered Perceptor

"Or possibly the structures are only leg-like in appearance and will have some other function, “ offered Ratchet.

Sunstreaker sighed. He wasn't sure what disturbed him more—the possible form of the young or the calmness of the other two mechs regarding the whole experiment. "How large will they get inside him?" he asked, looking back at Perceptor.

"Not sure. We expect a small to average sparkling size, but he is carrying five. On a frame such as his he's definitely going to start showing soon," Ratchet answered.

"I may have to be kept mostly immobile at some point," Perceptor added casually.

"Can you handle that much expansion?" Sunstreaker had found himself increasingly concerned about Perceptor's well-being over the course of the experiment, and would have regretted giving permission were it not for Perceptor's complete acceptance and resolve. "I know that larger mechs can carry one or two bitlets without even showing, and in femmes and other narrow-waisted builds, pregnancy always stretches them out. But five?"

Ratchet glanced again at the screens. "Even in multiple pregnancies the frame manages somehow to keep together, so Perceptor should be fine. On the positive side, Insecticons are usually smaller in build. It's not like he's carrying Ultra Magnus' children."

"Well thank Primus for that." Sunstreaker was unable to suppress a snort of laughter. "I just can't imagine you and Magnus together."

"The strange thing though, is that there aren't sparks within the frames," Perceptor said, ignoring the previous comment.

"What? None?" Admittedly Sunstreaker didn't know all the mechanics of Cybertronian reproduction, but he did know that the newspark first appeared in the gestation chamber and its frame formed around it, fed by code donated from both the sire and the carrier.

"No. Not in even one of the five. The building of the frames began successfully, obviously, but not a single scan has revealed a spark. And yet the frames have continued to grow," Perceptor explained. "It's most intriguing." He patted his belly absently. "In our kind the spark manifests in the gestation chamber well before the frame-building begins."

"That's really odd."

Perceptor's calmness continued. "It's just something different. So we'll just keep watching to see what happens. Perhaps more matings will be involved. Or a spark-merge at some point."

"So the babies are dead, but they're developing." Sunstreaker suppressed a shudder.

"You could think of it that way, but I prefer to think of them as 'under construction' really," Ratchet said. "It's a little nicer than 'dead,' and probably closer to the truth."

Perceptor hopped off the table. "Well, that covers what we wanted to bring to your attention—and certainly the reason Bob's been especially clingy toward me today. I think he's been waiting to hear that the mating was a success."

"To literally hear it." Ratchet chuckled as he shut down the equipment.

"Can I walk you back to your quarters?" Sunstreaker offered the scientist.

"It's not necessary, but I wouldn't mind if you did."

"I'd like to... in case I come up with more questions."

"All right then," Perceptor said, picking up his case of datapads and heading out the door.

Bob scuttled after, running circles about them in the hallways. At Perceptor's door, Bob pushed his way in as he often did, but this time he refused to leave.

"Bob! Come!" Sunstreaker repeated for the third time. "You've spent enough time with your wife today. I'm sure she'd like a little alone time," he added, eliciting an amused smile from said wife.

Bob was obviously unwilling to leave Perceptor's company, and let them know by hunkering down at the side of the berth when the frontliner entered the quarters to physically remove him.

"You can leave him here with me," Perceptor said obligingly on seeing Sunstreaker's expression of irritation.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to look after him all the time. Bob! Bob come!"

All four of Bob's antennae flattened against his head.

Perceptor looked away a moment, obviously about to say something that would be difficult for him. "Perhaps... ah... Would you like to stay here during the gestation? You're welcome to. I ended up with quarters designed for a larger mech, so there's plenty of room, and you are welcome to share the berth. It's big enough for both of us, and it still has a mattress." He laughed, but then suddenly turned away as if embarrassed that he had asked. He moved to a cabinet, poured himself a serving of energon, and drank it quickly.

"You wouldn't mind? Me living here?" Sunstreaker asked, surprised at the offer..

"It would just be a temporary arrangement, but I suspect that it would mean a lot to Bob, for the three of us to be together," he answered. "He's very devoted to you but obviously wants to remain with me and his growing offspring. That's normal parenting behavior."

Sunstreaker felt a surge of warmth inside of him. "All right. I'll stay. For Bob's sake."

For Bob's sake. He knew it was a lie. Heck, Perceptor probably knew it was a lie too. The thought of curling up with another mech was a delightful one. It had been a long time since he'd shared a berth with anyone, and even if this wasn't a romantic sharing, they were obviously willing to experiment with the other's close company. They'd already tested the waters, so to speak, the previous week during the second mating. He'd held the scientist's hand and whispered calming and frivolous things into his audials all through the process. Some... some had even bordered on romantic.

For Perceptor to make the offer, perhaps they'd both been lying to themselves since becoming involved in this strange scientific experiment.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	11. Bob

-o-o-o-o-o-

The days had been wonderful, having settled into a pleasant routine. The yellow Hivemaster had decided to relocate the Hive to the red-blue Queen's residence. He moved in, taking a few things with him, along with Bob's bed.

However Bob had not wanted to sleep in his bed. No. He belonged beside his Queen, protecting him and the growing young inside of him. But each time he climbed up onto the bed to cradle his mate, the Hivemaster angrily picked him up and set him back onto the floor. After the fourth time, Bob gave up. The Hivemaster certainly could protect and warm the Queen as well as any Insecticon could if not better. Besides, it would not be long before the nesting time came and the Queen would be moved to the waiting brood pit in the large room.

It was not too long, perhaps fifteen days, before that time to move was right. Bob led the Queen to the nest, insisting he enter, and once inside, Bob refused to let the Queen leave.

The Queen was not happy about being trapped. He tried to leave again and again, but each time Bob scuttled after him, caught him with an arm or his mouth, and dragged him gently back. The Queen's stubbornness would be a challenge—tall-breeds could be so trying at times.

Bob decided to try a new tactic after the Queen's most recent escape attempt and recapture. He pulled the Queen down onto the mattress, chuffing and chattering at him as he rubbed the Queen's swelling abdomen. The developing larvae had grown so much larger and were changing the shape of the Queen.

That was what it took. The Queen suddenly understood the need to remain in the nest for the sake of the coming offspring. He settled himself with a sigh and went into recharge. Later, the yellow-masked mech that was often in the Queen's busy-place brought him a table and some equipment and put them into the brood pit.

The Hivemasters, both his yellow one and the white-crested one, visited frequently. Sometimes his Hivemaster would spend the night cycle with them, curled up on the bed at the Queen's back while the Insecticon watched his front. Unlike before, here Bob was allowed onto the bed.

He loved the way his Queen looked now. His Queen was beautiful before, but now he was doubly so, all full of that potential life. Bob often nuzzled at the gravid belly or purred at the Queen's neck to let the Queen know just how attractive he was. 

Of course this was the time he had to be on guard the most from other would-be sires. It happened now and then that a Queen approaching readiness would be stolen by another Hive short on members. It didn't take much to envision one of the other Hivemasters appearing with some hivemates and stealing away the red-blue Queen. While these tall-breeds seemed to get along mostly peaceably with each other, one never knew when the desire to increase their numbers would override their innate sociability. He'd have to get the roof of the nest built soon, both to keep predatory sires out and the young inside once they were born.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	12. Sunstreaker

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sunstreaker appeared around mid-shift with energon for the three of them. He had been taking the scientist his fuel ever since Bob had decided to keep Perceptor permanently in the nest. Bob had even built something of a roof over the top of the pit to make it harder for his mate to escape. Long pipes and beams stolen from the machine shop crossed the gap, cemented in by some of the same salivary glue that held the food-balls together. There weren't enough to make a solid roof which gave the pit something of a jail-like air. But later on, Bob had stolen blankets and tarps from wherever he could find them and cemented them into place over the supports, closing up the nest save for a few air vents. The door remained though it too had been covered with a piece of tarp. Whenever Bob heard someone close by, he would move quickly to his watchpoint just inside that door, clinging to the wall, apparently on guard for intruders.

But Bob, on hearing Sunstreaker's familiar gait, climbed from the pit to greet his master. But when Sunstreaker handed over the cube of energon, the Insecticon simply held it with his secondary pair of hands and stood on his hind legs, placing his primary arms on Sunstreaker's shoulders. Four yellow optics looked pleadingly into Sunstreaker's face. 

"Yes Bob? What'cha want. Want your lunch?"

Bob answered with anxious chirping and chittering.

"What's with Bob?" Sunstreaker asked Perceptor after dropping down into the pit.

"I'm not sure. He's been behaving differently today."

"Differently how?"

"Anxious. Clingy. Going to meet you was the first time he's left the nest today. And he's not made any food-balls."

Sunstreaker handed him a cube of energon. "That is odd." He looked about the nest. For the past two orns the Insecticon had devoted a huge part of his waking hours to the chewing of scrap into tiny pieces and making the food-balls, which now took up about half of the pit.

Perceptor began packing up his work and setting it aside. "He's been especially clingy for the past five cycles, making it difficult to work. That includes him trying to maintain some sort of physical contact with me almost constantly. When he isn't clinging, he's fussing about the nest, checking on the bedding or restacking the food-balls. When he is clinging, he's obsessively cleaning himself and me of imaginary dirt. Either that or trying to get me onto the mattress. I thought perhaps he wanted to mate again, but once he had me down he just kept stroking or cradling me affectionately or trying to open my abdominal plating."

"Opening your plating? Maybe he wants to see his babies growing. You're quite large around the middle now."

Perceptor sighed and looked down at himself. "I've noticed. Perhaps it's best being stuck in the nest. Fewer awkward questions to answer that way."

"Well everyone knows something of what's going on now. But yeah. Awkward. So did you let him open you?"

"I did a few times, but then he just kept rubbing me inside, and it made me nervous, so I kept closing up on him." The scientist sighed and looked up at the other mech with a tired expression. "Sunstreaker, I've tried to be patient with him. It's bad enough that he wants me trapped in this pit, but this is just ridiculous. At one point he climbed up onto the worktable and scattered the fossil samples I've been analyzing everywhere. I'm afraid I snapped at him, and he went leaping from the table and hid in the bed. He sulked under the canvas covers but within a breem was back rubbing against my legs, begging for forgiveness. Yet another breem and he'd all but licked the paint off of my lower legs and feet. Another breem and he'd managed to remove a hip plate and stash it in the corner there." He pointed. Only now there were several pieces of Perceptor's plating stashed there.

"That is strange. I wonder what's up."

Perceptor eased himself from his chair and went to sit on the mattress, Bob following on his heels. As the swollen mech sat, Bob quickly pressed audial sensors to Perceptor's abdomen, and then gave the expanded plates a nervous licking. 

"He's been doing stuff like that all day," the scientist said frustratedly.

And seeing Perceptor drinking from the cube, Bob finally allowed himself to drink. Sunstreaker sat at the table in the vacated seat, cracked the seal on his cube, and refueled himself. Before he'd even gotten half of it down, Bob had finished his cube and was over at Sunstreaker's side blatantly begging. 

"What? You that hungry?" the yellow mech asked. "You are acting funny today."

Bob continued to stare, antennae and other parts of him quivering.

Sunstreaker handed the Insecticon the rest of his cube, and Bob drank it immediately. When finished, Bob moved over to Perceptor on the mattress and attempted to drag him further up onto it. When Perceptor refused to budge, Bob began shoving him with his head. 

"All right. Fine. I'll move," Perceptor exclaimed in exasperation. "See!? All day! Like this! I'm about to have someone with a null ray come down here and blast him so I can have a few moments of peace!"

Sunstreaker laughed—a frustrated Perceptor was a funny Perceptor—and moved over to sit with the scientist on the bed. "Maybe he does want another mating but wanted me here for it."

"I'd hope not. He's obviously aware that I'm carrying. Besides, his behavior's been quite different compared to the courting behavior."

Bob crawled all over his mate and the bed, fussing with the pillows and canvas sheets, even placing some beneath Perceptor's head. It appeared that he was trying to make him comfortable. When Bob was finally satisfied with the state of the bedding, he began fidgeting with and licking at the plating over Perceptor's distended abdomen yet again.

"You don't think it's time to...? Well, how far along did Ratchet say the bits were?" Sunstreaker asked.

"As of my scan yesterday, he estimated that their systems were ninety to ninety-five percent functional." A realization suddenly hit Perceptor, the surprise washing over his faceplate. "Oh! Perhaps it is time! But I've not felt anything though or gotten any signals from my programming about birthing them. They were still spark-less as of yesterday."

Perceptor and Sunstreaker looked at each other with a growing sense of worry. 

"Oh Primus! Let's get Ratchet down here right now!" Sunstreaker gulped.

-o-o-o-o-o-

By the time medical assistance arrived, Bob had managed to remove or open most of Perceptor's abdominal plating, the scientist neither helping nor hindering. "Ratchet's caught in the middle of a surgery, but he'll be here as soon as he can," First Aid explained as he climbed down into the nest. Bob had rushed to the door the moment the doctor had approached, but had rushed back to tend to Perceptor once he knew who the visitor was. "So please tell me what's going on."

Bob continued to fuss with the plating as Perceptor explained and the other two watched. By the time he'd finished, Bob had folded back the extended plates enough to expose the outer skin of the gestational chamber.

First Aid quickly scanned the chamber. "I would agree that it could be time," he concurred. "The generative nanites have all shut down."

"What should I do?" Perceptor asked, for once sounding a touch frightened.

"I'd say let Bob continue. He seems to know what's going on and what to do. But whether it's something he learned from other Insecticons, or comes instinctively, I'm unsure. Not that it really matters at this point," First Aid decided.

"All right," Perceptor said with resignation to the fact that something was definitely about to happen.

Sunstreaker moved up to sit beside Perceptor's head. He took the closest of the mech's hands in one of his, and with his other hand he began stroking Perceptor's helm. It was the usual position of comfort they assumed when Bob had been at work with his duties as a sire.

Perceptor looked up at frontliner. "You've been so good to me through all this," he said, allowing Sunstreaker to distract him from whatever Bob was doing inside of him.

Sunstreaker squeezed his hand tightly. "I have to, for Bob's sake," he said, trying not to sound too emotional right now. He switched off his optics, lay down beside Perceptor, their faces close, and massaged the hand in his grip.

Sunstreaker always had a secret attraction to the scientist, but had dismissed said attraction as curiosity or lust. They had nothing in common upon which to base a relationship, or to even socialize together for that matter. But ever since the experiment had begun he'd spent lots of time with Perceptor, finding a sweet and caring soul beneath the scientific jargon and independent attitude. After the second mating session, Sunstreaker had secretly dared to imagine that he and his pet had reversed places, and that he was atop the scientist thrusting away while Bob sat protectively by. 

When he and Bob had moved into Perceptor's quarters, it had been wonderful. They had shared the berth, recharging side by side. Sometimes he'd woken and simply lain there watching the other mech sleeping, entranced by the placidity of the faceplate while terrified that the scientist would wake and discover him creepily staring. More than once he'd woken to find Perceptor pressed up against him, their bodies so close Sunstreaker could feel the soft venting of warm air from the mech's systems. Sometimes a few fingers would be timidly pressed against his frame. Perceptor would apologize and claim that there was something faulty in his recharge cycle's position-lock programming and make some excuse as to why he'd not gotten it fixed yet.

A gasp from Perceptor, as well as one from First Aid, caused Sunstreaker to online his optics again.

"What's going on?" Perceptor asked nervously.

"You're fully open. We can see the larvae," said First Aid.

Bob was clacking excitedly again, and he re-positioned himself once more. With his manipulator arms he reached into the womb and very carefully withdrew one of the tiny fram”””””””””””  
es.

The larva wasn't large, about the size of Perceptor's hand. It was a dull metallic grey and purple dotted with yellow spikes as Bob was, though its abdominal segments alternated between rosy red and blue. Six well-jointed legs hung down from the creature's thorax. Several thin umbilicals twisted into a helix that still connected it to its creator. 

"It's beautiful!" First Aid exclaimed excitedly, a smile in his voice.

"It's a bug," Sunstreaker said flatly. The scientist had just birthed a bug—a limp, lifeless robotic bug dripping with oil.

Bob shared First Aid's excitement. Cooing and chirruping gleefully he admired the tiny frame for a klik before transferring it to lie on its back in his primary hands.

"Look at that gap. A spark chamber!" First Aid pointed to a bulbous protrusion within a wide split on the larva's underside.

Bob's chest plating began to shift, his own spark-chamber coming forward and beginning to open.

"So this is where it happens!" Perceptor gasped. "The Insecticons aren't sparked at creation as we are, but by the sire at birth. This is why the frames grew despite the absence of a spark in them."

The shadows of the pit suddenly disappeared as light flared out through the opened hatches of Bob's spark-chamber. The three mechs watched in reverent silence as the manipulator arms reached into his spark and withdrew a tiny yellow globule of light. The sparkbud was pressed into the larva's empty chamber, which then snapped closed around it.

The split closed and the three mechs continued to stare in awe as the tiny Insecticon came to life. First the bio-lights began to glow. Then the six tiny legs began to twitch. The long abdomen began to wiggle. Lastly, the four eyes on its head began to glow a familiar blue.

Overjoyed, Bob kissed the new life with his tongue and with a series of happy-sounding chirps gently disconnected the bundle of cables that tied the frame to the life-support systems in Perceptor's gestation chamber. Once it was free, he proudly handed the wriggling larva to Sunstreaker, who took the oily little thing gently.

First Aid reached for Perceptor's hand, taking it and squeezing it tightly. "Congratulations, Percy! You're a parent! A successful birth!"

"I'm... I'm a parent."

"You are. And as far as we know, the parent of the first surviving Insecticon-Cybertronian hybrid."

Perceptor's expression was one of both relief and puzzlement, and yet some delight. "I only did it in the name of science," he said slowly. "But somehow, I think I want this."

"Good." First Aid smiled at him. "Because you've got four more inside of you."

Sunstreaker was staring at the colorful little thing in his hands, as equally enthralled as he was disgusted. "I can't believe that you and Bob just had a baby," he said. "This is so wrong, and yet, it's so amazing at the same time."

The larva's legs curled about Sunstreaker's hand, and to his surprise it began emitting the tiniest, squeakiest little chirps.

The frontliner cradled the bug into an arm, fingers running along its back between the raised yellow dots. "I can't believe that you and Bob just had a baby," he repeated, grabbing a towel to catch the oil dripping from it. Then he smiled. "And it's beautiful."

-o-o-o-o-o-


	13. Bob

-o-o-o-o-o-

His job finished, Bob allowed his Hivemaster to pick him up, wrap him into a blanket, and cradle him in his lap. He was exhausted from having delivered and sparked his brood. 

There were only five larvae, a disappointingly small result. Bob was sure the small brood was the Queen's fault. Perhaps this really was his first mating and the red-blue mech needed more experience. Or perhaps the tall-breeds produced smaller broods due to their larger size and wider variety. Admittedly, though, even just five had worn him out. How would he have managed the usual ten to twelve? 

But all five larvae appeared robust and perfectly formed. Bob had examined each carefully as he'd brought it forth from his Queen, and all had been worthy of a piece of his spark. They had the blue optics of their carrier and his coloration on their long abdomens, making them unique among the Swarm. The Queen was holding one of the five, studying it closely. The red and white Healer had the firstborn in his lap and was actually feeding it a food-ball. Barely free of its carrier and it was already going about the business of being an Insecticon. 

The white-crested Hivemaster arrived, the yellow-masked mech with him, and they climbed down into the pit. They were just as curious about the young as everyone else was. Bob watched the white-crested Hivemaster hold each larva in turn, looking it over, checking its six legs, checking its eyes, and then returning each to the Queen's lap. There was much talk among the tall-breeds, but most of it sounded positive.

Bob looked over at his Queen, now wrapped in a canvas blanket as he was. It wasn't fair to be disappointed with the small result of the mating. The Queen had done his part, and it had to have been difficult, not knowing the ways of an Insecticon hive. If he was offered to Bob again, Bob would happily mate with the red-blue mech as before. Though he still hoped for a chance to breed with the spiky white Superior Queen, who had incidentally come to the nest pit and looked in from the door for a while. Bob himself had been the offspring of a strong Hivemaster and a Superior Queen, good parentage for an Insecticon.

The white-crested Hivemaster offered fuel to Bob, and he weakly reached out to take it. When it was offered to the Queen, the yellow Hivemaster helped the Queen to sit up and drink. Bob had noticed a growing attachment and affection between the two, and wondered if they were once Hive-kin, brought back together by this arranged mating. Words were exchanged between sips. Bob watched the yellow Hivemaster press his mouth to the head of the Queen. It was not to clean him, but that show of affection the tall-breeds did among themselves.

When the Queen finished his fuel he settled into the arms of the yellow Hivemaster, the five larvae clinging to their carrier's chest, cradled by his arms. They were small but would grow quickly now that they'd been set free of the Queen's womb and sparked. Bob would need to reinforce the soft roof on the pit now to keep the youngsters inside, at least until they'd learned how to not just defend themselves but also how to behave themselves in the outside world. Life with the tall-breeds was complicated. There would be so much to teach them.

Bob finished his drink and curled up against his Queen and Hivemaster. It was like that he fell asleep, thoroughly drained from the long business of birthing and sparking their creations.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	14. Sunstreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob's enjoying his newfound parenthood. Sunstreaker and Perceptor are as well, especially when Perceptor is finally allowed out of the nest.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sunstreaker had been given 'maternity leave,' as the crew jokingly called it, so he could look after the new family. The next few days were spent in the nest, watching the five youngsters crawl about on their six little legs and eat the food-balls and snuggle against their creator and sire. He'd leave to fetch energon and anything Perceptor wanted. During the night he'd recharge right against Perceptor, his arm brazenly upon him, while Bob gathered their young beneath him protectively for the night.

Bob rarely left the nest, instead devoting all of his time to his family. He licked and scraped the larvae clean and made sure they were eating. Once a day he'd cough out a bit of energon, somehow gelled into pellets, for them to consume along with the food balls. He spent hours just staring at them as they crawled about the nest on their tiny legs. Sometimes he'd curl up with Perceptor, purring happily, and kiss his mate. Sometimes he'd put the chirping little frames atop Sunstreaker's chest or back and cuddle them there. When visitors came, he'd proudly show off his brood, trustingly placing each bitlet into each visitor's hands to be admired. 

One afternoon when Drift came for a visit, Sunstreaker and Perceptor watched with some amusement as Bob enthusiastically placed each larva at least three times into the white mech's clawed hands, Drift patiently holding each and petting it gently. 

"See what you missed out on?" Sunstreaker teased. "These could have been your children."

Drift gave the yellow frontliner a crooked smile. "Yeah, well, next time he's looking ping me," he countered with equal sarcasm.

And for the first time Perceptor was allowed to leave the nest.

"I'm going to be in the washracks for at least a full cycle," the scientist announced on finding his freedom, something Bob had denied him for what seemed a vorn. "Possibly two. And then I'm going down to the oilbath in the medbay and soaking for another cycle. And then... then I'll be at Swerve's getting good and overcharged."

Sunstreaker laughed. "Have fun."

"I certainly shall."

Sunstreaker snuck out later when Bob and the brood had settled for a nap, and he immediately went to Swerve's. He found the scientist at a table, an assortment of empty glasses in front of him, a cloud of interested mechs floating about, and a quiet thrall as a happily overcharged Perceptor talked at length about Insecticons and mating and motherhood. 

When Perceptor noticed Sunstreaker there, he looked up and smiled. "You escaped, too." He grinned and pushed a half-full glass in the yellow mech's direction. "Come get drunk with me. We'll toast the success of the latest strangeness aboard the Lost Light."

A place was cleared for Sunstreaker and even though Swerve brought him a serving of his usual, Perceptor insisted that he share what he was drinking as well.

"Everyone, if you ever need someone to help you out with your family, this is the mech to call," the scientist announced as he tapped Sunstreaker on the chest. "Turns out he's a real family guy."

"Yeah, well, when your pet has puppies, you get drafted into co-parenting."

"So how do you feel now?" someone asked.

Perceptor thought for a moment. "Empty."

Amused chuckles followed.

Sunstreaker wasn't sure if this response was intended as a bit of humorous truth or as a subtle description of his emotional state.

"I was carrying for half a stellar-cycle, and even though there was no awareness of the brood, except for the hum and heat from inside, and the expanded abdominal plating of course, I got pretty comfortable with it—enjoying it even. It was like I was never alone," Perceptor clarified. 

Sunstreaker took another drink and laughed. "You never were alone. Usually Bob was there crawling all over you." A message suddenly appeared from Perceptor, and turning his head he found the scientist gazing tipsily at him.

::If I decide to breed again someday, and not necessarily with Bob, would you be there for it?::

Sunstreaker gave Perceptor a sly, teasing look. ::Are you propositioning me?::

::Maybe.::

"Any idea how Bob feels?" someone else asked.

As Perceptor answered the question and the following ones, Sunstreaker ignored the conversation going on around him, lost in his own thoughts for the moment. 

Was this the start of something between him and Perceptor? They'd become close through the ordeal, but now that it was over, he'd expected they'd drift apart as the Insecticons grew and the scientist went back to something of his regular routine. Yes, he'd hoped that the relationship would last, but had not planned on it.

Sunstreaker looked back at Perceptor again, and again received one of those tipsy smiles.

Daringly, beneath the table top, Sunstreaker casually slid his hand over to rest atop Perceptor's thigh. He wasn't sure what words to use, but perhaps this would do all the speaking for him.

And after a klik, Perceptor's hand found his, and instead of Perceptor pushing the hand away, they found their fingers entwining.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	15. Bob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob's brood continues to grow, from tiny larvae to some strange hybrid. The Queen has had quite an influence on them. The Hivemaster has been unexpectedly supportive. Why has he not produced a brood of his own yet? Why has he not found a Superior Queen yet?

-o-o-o-o-o-

The Brood grew fast. In a decacycle they doubled in size, and in two decacycles they'd doubled that. The food-balls were eagerly consumed, and what had at first seemed a limitless stock dwindled with alarming rapidity. Bob began dragging what he could salvage from the junk pile back to the nest and the young would chew on it, eating it slowly with their tiny mouths. When the junk pile was completely depleted, a few of the tall-breeds brought in a small wrecked spaceraft they'd found floating outside of the ship and allowed the Insecticons to consume that. Bob would lead his brood from the nest to it, and they'd crawl over it, nibbling it bit by bit.

The Queen spent half of his time in the nest studying his young, endlessly examining them and holding up tools to them, clacking away nearly endlessly on the finger-interface thing. Another mech, the one with the yellow mask and white helm was there frequently as well, assisting the Queen with whatever work it was he was doing. The Queen gave the larvae names, telling them apart by the small variations in their coloration, except for Seven Claws. Seven Claws had an extra finger on one of his manipulator hands—at least what would become his manipulator hands. The others—Teeth, Shellshield, Longleap, and Richard—were physically alike save for the color differences.

The Hivemaster came and went as before. When in the nest he spent some time talking to the Queen and the yellow-masked mech, as well as more time playing with the larvae. He'd throw rounded bits of metal or plastic, which they'd chase about gleefully. Other times he'd drag a cable around the large room and they'd chase after it excitedly trying to pounce on the end. As they grew larger he began to wrestle with them, teaching them how to grapple and overturn an opponent. 

Bob wondered if the yellow Hivemaster would be inspired to sire a brood of his own—it was obvious that he liked the larvae and was quite concerned for their education and welfare. But then he did not have a Superior Queen to breed with, at least that Bob knew of. Superior Queens began as regular Queens that had been selected by the Hivemaster himself after having proved their breeding and defensive abilities. And while regular Queens were bonded for but one brood-cycle, Superior Queens were bonded for life to a Hivemaster. If the yellow Hivemaster had such a mate, certainly Bob would have met him or her by now.

By the time the brood was a stellar-cycle old they'd reached Bob's size and yet continued to grow, but with a difference. Their long abdomens shrank up and their forms began to look more like that of their sire. And as the tall-breeds could transform from their forms down into other objects—most usually transportation objects—the larvae could transform into tall-breed forms. They had two walking legs and proper faces. Their manipulator arms had developed into arms like those of the tall-breeds for their tall-breed mode. The Queen and the white-crested Hivemaster were most excited by this, and often took one of the young away with them for short periods, usually heading off to the room of healing or to the Queen's busy-place. Bob did not mind, as the pit nest was beginning to feel very crowded when the whole Hive was present. And except for during the night cycles, the larvae were spending much more time outside of the pit, interacting with the tall-breeds or playing with each other in the big room.

Bob was very proud of his brood. They were special, and not just because they were his, or because they were his first brood. The Queen's influence had made them special. The Hivemaster had chosen wisely.

But had the Hivemaster, or anyone for that matter, expected the final ability the Queen's influence would bestow upon the young? It seemed to come as such a surprise to everyone, Bob included.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	16. Perceptor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor and Brainstorm inform Ratchet of the most surprising, and perhaps the most valuable, result of the interbreeding experiment.

-o-o-o-o-o-

::Ratchet? Are you busy?:: came Perceptor's call over the comm'.

::Nope. Something up?:: His shuttle down to the planet in search of medical supplies had returned two cycles ago, having been gone nearly two orns.

::Brainstorm and I have something to show you now that you're back.::

::About the Insecticons, I'm assuming?::

::Yes.::

::Come up to my office in another cycle. I'll be done with the reports by then and will be happy to shift gears.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Ratchet, check this out,” said Brainstorm.

Ratchet looked up from his datapad at the two coming into his office. Correction, three. They had one of the young Insecticons with them. 

“Shellshield, transform,” instructed Perceptor.

Ratchet watched as the skittering insect took his bi-pedal form and stood beside his carrier. They were now equal in height, though the Insecticon appeared a bit taller for the antennae and the insectoid wings that jutted straight up from his shoulders in this mode.

“Shellshield. Tell Ratchet your name and who carried you.”

Ratchet cocked an optic.

“My name is Shellshield-shield. And this one carried me-me,” said the Insecticon with some hesitation, gesturing to Perceptor.

Ratchet stood in surprise. “He speaks!”

“Shellshield, tell him about yourself.”

Shellshield looked to Perceptor. “What do I say-say?”

“Tell him about where you live, about your family.”

The Insecticon shuffled, and then spoke again. “I live aboard the Lost Light-Light, a spacecraft from Cybertron. My Sire is Bob-Bob, an Insecticon, and his Queen for my creation was Perceptor, a tall-breed. I have four Clutch-mates: Seven Claws, Longleap, Richard, and Teeth-teeth. There are no others in our Hive-Hive. Sunstreaker is the name of our Hivemaster.”

Ratchet was astounded. “He knows all this? How?”

“Apparently he's connected to the formic network of the other Insecticons, but is able to convert their signals into our language,” Perceptor answered proudly.

“The hybridization. Of course. Amazing!” Ratchet turned to Shellshield. “Shellshield, can you communicate with your sire?”

“Easily-easily.”

“Tell your sire to come here,” instructed Brainstorm.

“He is not far away, waiting for me to return again-again.”

“Tell him to come to you.”

In a few kliks Bob came rushing in the door, eagerly greeting the others with a rapid waving of antennae and friendly rubbing of plating. Shellshield immediately dropped into his insect mode and flicked his yellow antennae against Bob's, followed by the press of heads and kissing of plating. Insecticons were very demonstrative of their affection for each other.

“Shellshield, can you talk to your sire for us? To translate?”

“Yes-yes. I can.”

“Ask him what his name is.”

For a moment the two waved their antennae together, and then Shellshield transformed into his robot mode again. “My sire says his name is Bob-Bob, and he wonders why you are asking, since you know-know it already.”

“Ask him what he was called before he was named Bob.”

The minor antennae twitched, and then Shellshield turned back to Ratchet. “He says he had no name before the Hivemaster found him-him. Insecticons do not have names. They are only Hivemasters, Queens, Superior Queens, and Hivemates-mates. Only tall-breeds have names-names, or give names.”

“Amazing...” Ratchet said, completely in awe of this unexpected development. “So they have a formal social order.” And then he peered at Perceptor with a bit of a smile. “Queen?”

“Simply a title to indicate my status as a breeder,” he said with a bit of an embarrassed cough. And then Perceptor smiled at Shellshield. “Thank you so much Shellshield. If you wish, you and Bob may leave now, but I will be here for a while.”

The two Insecticons departed, leaving the three mechs behind.

“I was most surprised when he began utilizing speech. I'd noticed the young had vocalizers, and they exhibited vague speech patterns in their clicks and chirps, but this... I'd not expected this,” explained Perceptor. “The repeated words seem to be some sort of affectation which I cannot explain as anything but at this point.”

“When did he start talking?”

“An orn ago. At first it was just babbling, but within two days he had words. And within four days he was forming sentences.”

“What about the others? Can they speak as well?”

“They were at the babbling stage as of this morning, so we expect they'll be talking soon. Shellshield always has developed somewhat faster than his brothers,” said Brainstorm.

Perceptor continued. “Brainstorm and I have begun compiling my finds into a report to send home to the governmental science department in Iacon. This may prove of tremendous importance to dealing with the problem of the Swarm.”

“A solution beyond just blasting them to keep them back. I'd be glad to see that,” said Brainstorm enthusiastically.

“Yes. Apparently we can not only interbreed successfully with the Insecticons, but we can now communicate with them,” added Perceptor. “As previously mentioned their ability to reproduce so easily has been a serious problem. But now we know much of their process.”

“It is good news, isn't it?” grinned Brainstorm. “I might be able to come up with a weapon to negate their reproductive ability directly.”

“And it may be critical news for the survival of Cybertron.” Perceptor patted himself of the back. As unorthodox and questionable as the experiment had been, a great good was likely to come out of it. And then there were the unexpected ancillary benefits.

Ratchet sat back down in his chair. “It seems a bit immoral to be raising a family of Insecticons here with us, while using the information gained for plotting the demise of their species.”

“I've thought about that a great deal,” said Perceptor. “And I realized this: The swarm was never meant to be. They were the failure and shame of the Decepticon scientists. If we can stop the Swarm, perhaps civilize some of them through interbreeding, we will be improving their lot as opposed to us destroying them or letting them destroy Cybertron. I think they can be valuable to Cybertron, but only in the more civilized state that the interbreeding allows for. Look at Bob. He was once swarm, and now he's domesticated. And look at our offspring. They talk and think and want to cooperate with us. This experiment has proved there is hope for the species. We can turn what was once an abomination into a boon.” Perceptor drew himself up and folded his arms over his chest.

Ratchet leaned forward onto his desk. “And have you included that recommendation in with your reports?”

“It would be irresponsible not to,” replied the scientist smugly.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	17. Sunstreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor and Sunstreaker realize they seem to have a little something going on.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Later that day, Perceptor appeared at Sunstreaker's door. “May I talk to you a moment?” the scientist asked, a slight quavering in his voice.

“Of course,” said the frontliner. “I was just getting my berth back together. It took a bit to get the mattress completely cleaned and repaired, but amazingly it's still in pretty good shape, given all it's been through in the past stellar-cycle.”

Perceptor chuckled as Sunstreaker ushered him inside. “I apologize for that, though in my defense I can say that Bob and Teeth are primarily responsible—Teeth for that missing corner of course. Mostly I wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed your assistance in this experiment. I know that I've been quite busy of late with the reports, but I wanted to make sure that you knew my appreciation.” The scientist's EM field was radiating like a star.

“Well thank you.” And then he gave Perceptor a smirk. “Were you off at Swerve's again?”

“No? Why do you ask? Did you want to go there?”

Sunstreaker laughed. “No reason really.” Perceptor could be so cute when unaware of what was really being said. He went back to folding the blankets at the foot of the berth.

The scientist looked away somewhat abashedly. “And there's something I wanted to ask you.” His hands wrung together, and he sat down in Sunstreaker's chair.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind perhaps if we kept our acquaintance on something of a social level, rather than a professional level?” His expression was hopeful.

A social level? Sunstreaker smirked over his shoulder. “I was hoping we could stay friends, Percy. We did get... sorta emotional at times.”

“You would be willing to socialize on a casual basis?”

“Completely willing. I could use a few friends around here. You know my reputation.” He turned the rest of the way to face Perceptor. “And perhaps on an intimate basis as well.” He smirked again, hoping the scientist would not be offended, hoping even harder that he was like-minded. Perceptor had been so beautiful at times during the endeavor, and sometimes so irresistible. Admittedly they'd been awfully caught up in it at the time of the birthing, Sunstreaker even kissing and cuddling the scientist during and after the event. Afterward neither had been bold enough to speak of it.

Though there had been that moment at Swerve's...

“You would be interested in a romantic relationship?” Perceptor asked. He was obviously trying to keep up his professional wall of decorum, but Sunstreaker had heard the cooling fan for his spark-chamber snap on and the mech himself was leaning in closely.

“I would. If you were interested.”

“We have little in common,” the scientist suddenly said, as if to give Sunstreaker a graceful 'out'.

Sunstreaker was surprised at the comment—that same thought had always been his own. “But we've discovered that we work well together, and we seem to enjoy each other's company.” What he really wanted to do was simply go over to Perceptor, pluck the mech from his chair, and kiss him silly. But this was Perceptor, an emotionally reserved, perhaps even shy, scientist and sniper. He had to reason his feelings out to him.

“That is true. We did work quite well on this project, from the first mating up to the present. And we have gotten along quite amiably.”

“We even lived together for a while,” Sunstreaker reminded him.

“We did. Sharing a berth.”

“Sooooooo...?” Sunstreaker felt his fingers twitching. He still wanted to pounce upon the red and blue mech and smooch him senseless before dragging him off to the newly restored mattress for a sample of what Bob had enjoyed so much.

“Well, I suppose we could give it a trial run and see how it progresses.”

“Does that mean yes? Yes you would be willing to have a romantic relationship with me?” Sunstreaker's hopes were high despite the logical and organized method to Perceptor's way of going about things.

“I would be inclined to engage in relations of a more amorous nature,” Perceptor said cautiously.

Sunstreaker could no longer hold himself back. He tossed aside the last blanket, seized the scientist by the shoulders, lifted him to his feet, and passionately pressed his mouth to Perceptor's. And when the mech moaned in confusion and tried to ask questions he gripped the back of Perceptor's helm and forced his lip components all the harder against him.

When Perceptor finally relaxed Sunstreaker did as well, their faceplates moving apart and allowing the scientist a moment to voice his thoughts. But instead of speaking, the scientist simply put his arms around Sunstreaker's shoulders and kissed him in return.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	18. Bob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob reflects on the choice of the Hivemaster to make his Queen into the Hive's Superior Queen

-o-o-o-o-o-

The eight of them now shared the same Hive, having moved into a large room aboard the ship. They'd long outgrown their pit, and neither home of the two tall-breeds was big enough to fit them all comfortably. The larvae now stood as tall as their Queen and the Hivemaster, except for Shellshield, who had grown even taller than the Hivemaster. Chances were that someday he'd have a hive of his own—even at this young age he was showing an interest in leadership, though at this time it mostly amounted to ordering his brothers around. 

The five youngest members all had their own beds as the tall-breeds did, though they almost always preferred to sleep curled up into a warm pile in one corner of the room. The Hivemaster and the Queen shared one bed together in a room just off to the side of the one the six Insecticons lived in. The two tall-breeds were teaching them to live as tall-breeds, perfecting their language and behavior. And they were successful enough that the five were actually given tall-breed activities around the spacecraft. Teeth worked for the white-crested Hivemaster in the place of healing. Longleap had a job not far from the original pit nest helping the mechs that worked there, who taught him to work and were teaching him to fight as well. Tall Shellshield had become a favorite of the spacecraft's captain and spent much time following him around learning the workings of the ship they traveled on. Seven Claws usually followed the Queen about, assisting him and the yellow-faced mech in the busy-place. Richard was attracted to the engines and was being taught to perform maintenance tasks upon them.

At first Bob thought that the Queen had become part of their hive, and that the two tall-breeds wished to sleep together simply because they were tall-breeds and not Insecticons. But on coming into their room one evening after they'd retired, he found the Hivemaster working on starting his own brood with the Queen. Bob was stunned. His Hivemaster had taken the red-blue Queen for his own, making the quiet, busy mech a Superior Queen. Hivemasters did not mate casually as the usual members did. A Hivemaster's choice was one of importance and status.

Bob felt a touch of jealousy. He and the red-blue mech had been each other's first-time mate. There was something special about that. And there was a touch of sadness. Had the yellow Hivemaster given him the Queen simply to test the Queen's ability to create offspring? But there was some pride as well. The red-blue mech had gone on after only one brood to be deemed worthy of being a Superior Queen.

He sat quietly in the center of the floor, watching his beloved Hivemaster and the Superior Queen mate, both moaning and whimpering and making other noises of pleasure. It seemed to take a long time too, as if neither were in a hurry to finish the session. It had to be a tall-breed thing. But when they finally stopped to rest, they both noticed Bob sitting there in the center of their room.

The Hivemaster shifted to the edge of the bed and hung his arm over the side, wiggling his fingers at Bob. “Bob, come.”

Obediently, Bob clattered over to the Hivemaster's hand and nuzzled it affectionately. 

“Good boy, Bob,” he said, reaching up to skritch behind the yellow antennae. “Good boy.”

Bob smiled happily, leaning into his master's touch. So what if his master had chosen the red-blue Queen for himself. All was right in their growing hive. And that was what mattered. The functioning and happiness and growth of the Hive.

-o-  
-o-o-o-  
-o-o-o-o-o-

The End

-o-o-o-o-o-  
-o-o-o-  
-o-


End file.
